


Kid Stuff

by SapphoIsBurning



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Age Play, Alternate Universe, Community: wrestlingkink, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kink Meme, M/M, Non-Sexual Age Play, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-18 22:39:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5945947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphoIsBurning/pseuds/SapphoIsBurning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Dean's going to act like a child, then Roman's going to treat him like one.</p><p>Kink meme fill for prompt "Roman Reigns/Dean Ambrose - non-sexual ageplay, maybe AU"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bedtime

**Author's Note:**

> [Full prompt](https://wrestlingkink.dreamwidth.org/279.html?thread=535575#cmt535575): "So daddy kink is cool but I love non-sexual ageplay. Dean calling Roman 'daddy' would be cute, but he doesn't have to! I just want to see some fluff (and maybe at the start, a bit of angst) with Roman looking after little!Dean."

It started casually, almost by accident. They were rooming together like usual, nothing out of the ordinary. But they had an early flight to catch the next morning to get to the next city for a house show, and they were already both feeling punchy from lack of sleep.

"Dean, it's time for bed," Roman ordered, feeling frustrated that the TV was still on, loud, and Dean hadn't even brushed his teeth yet. He still had his boots on.

Dean scoffed. "Okay, dad," he said sarcastically.

Roman felt a weird pang in his chest from that. Was it indignance? He got off of his bed and went over to Dean, snatching the remote and shutting the TV off.

"Come on, I was watching that."

"Please? It's late. You have to be tired. I'll tuck you in," Roman offered, feeling the pang again just as he said it.

"Read me a story?" Dean asked.

"Anything."

"Fine. I need help brushing my teeth, too," he pouted.

"Let's go, come on," Roman said gently, grabbing Dean by the upper arm and hauling him out of bed and to the bathroom.

Dean made an exaggerated sulk as he pulled his toothbrush and toothpaste out of a zippered bag on the counter. He looked at Roman with big eyes as he handed them to him.

Roman patiently wet the toothbrush and squeezed a small line of toothpaste onto it. "Here you go. Brush up," he said, handing it back to Dean. "Two minutes. Don't make me sing the song."

"What song?" Dean asked, frowning and taking the toothbrush, running it over his teeth while bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet.

"This is the way we brush our teeth, brush our teeth, brush our teeth," Roman sang to the tune of "The Wheels on the Bus".

"Oh god, stop," Dean said, laughing and trying not to choke on the mouthful of toothpaste he was working on.

After some more time had passed, Roman handed Dean a glass of water. "Spit, then rinse."

Dean spit in the sink, then swished water all around his mouth, puffing out his cheeks dramatically. He spit. "Did I do okay?" he asked, then grinned, showing Roman all his teeth.

"Good job, buddy," Roman said, smiling and feeling a little warmth growing inside his chest. "Jammies?"

"Da-ad," Dean said, "Leave me alone while I pee."

"Oh! Sorry!" Roman said. "I'll help you change when you're done." He backed out of the bathroom, shutting the door on Dean and going over to Dean's duffel bag. He rifled through it, finding a pair of Philadelphia Flyers pajama pants and a plain t-shirt. He set them down on Dean's bed. He grabbed the top of the coverlet and pulled it back so Dean could get in. Then he grabbed his phone to try to find a bedtime story. There had to be somewhere to get those on the internet, right? On one hand, he felt a little silly, but on the other hand, it felt nice to take care of Dean. He tapped at his phone screen until Dean came out of the bathroom, looking sleepy and rubbing his eyes.

"See? I knew you were tired," Roman said. "Let's get your PJs on."

Dean grunted and walked toward him limply. He raised his arms over his head and Roman guided his grubby shirt up and over his head, and replaced it with the clean one he had picked out.

"Okay, shoes and pants off." 

Dean followed that instruction too and sat down on the bed to unlace his boots, frowning with concentration and sighing heavily. He kicked them off one after another and they hit the ground with a thud. He undid his belt and his fly, stood up, and dropped his jeans to the ground. Roman held out the Flyers pants, and Dean stepped out of his jeans and into the pajamas, bracing one hand on Roman's shoulder for support.

"Into bed now, let's go," Roman said, guiding Dean to lie down. Dean crawled in, curling up facing away from Roman and wrapping himself around a pillow. Roman pulled the blankets over him and tucked him in tightly, stuffing them under the edge of Dean's body. He smoothed them over, running his hand over Dean's body above the covers.

"You said I could have a story," Dean said, partially muffled by his pillow.

"Yep. How about I read you the tale of the brave hero John McClane and how he saved Christmas from the evil Hans Gruber?"

"That's my favorite," Dean said, rolling over and looking up with a touch of awe. "How'd you know?"

"Dads know these things," Roman said. He sat down at the foot of the bed and read from his phone. "On Christmas Eve, New York City Police Detective John McClane arrived in Los Angeles..."

He was mostly just reading the Wikipedia plot summary out loud, but he embellished a little where he could. He could see Dean's eyelids getting heavy, but he was enjoying himself.

"And then Hans Gruber fell off the building and never hurt anyone ever again. The end," Roman said, shutting the screen off on his phone. Dean's breathing was slow and even.

"Goodnight, kiddo," Roman said, standing up from the bed and heading towards his own.

"Night, dad," Dean mumbled sleepily, rolling back over onto his side.

Roman fought a powerful urge to kiss Dean's forehead. Instead, he sacked out on his bed, and allowed himself a few precious minutes to watch Dean sleep, safe, under his protection, and at peace.


	2. Snacktime

“Are we going to talk about this?” Roman asked Dean in the morning.

“Talk about what?” Dean asked, glaring.

“Never mind,” Roman said. “You got your title, right? It’s in your bag?”

“Ugh, yes!”

“Show me.”

Dean opened his bag to show that he had packed the case with the Intercontinental Belt inside it.

“Cool. You’re doing really good about not forgetting it anymore.” Roman threw his sunglasses on.

“You can’t turn it off, can you? You’ve always been the dad.” Dean pulled a ballcap on and pulled the brim down low over his eyes.

Roman looked over the top of his aviators. “That’s why I wanted to talk about it.”

Dean huffed a breath in and out, but didn’t say anything. They checked out of the hotel and went to the rental car in silence.

***

On the plane, Dean fell asleep right away, leaning into Roman’s shoulder, like usual. Roman didn’t mind too much. Dean looked so much more at peace when he was asleep, his long blonde eyelashes curled over his cheeks, his face relaxed. He could be a scary motherfucker when he was awake, but like this he was a lamb.

“Sir, what would you like to drink?” the flight attendant asked him.

“Um. Can I get a Coke?”

“Peanuts, cookies, or pretzels?” she continued.

“Peanuts.”

“Does your friend want anything?”

Roman thought for a second.

“Do you have chocolate milk?”

***

When Dean woke up, Roman presented him with a packet of cookies and a carton of chocolate milk with a bendy straw in it.

“Wha?” Dean said groggily. “Why didn’t you get me a beer, you know I always get a beer if I’m awake.”

“You’re too young for grown-up drinks, kiddo,” Roman said wryly. “Drink your milk.”

Dean looked up at Roman with disbelief, but that melted away when he saw the warmth in Roman’s expression. “Okay, old man,” Dean said. “You’re the boss.”


	3. Buster

They had a couple of days off after, to simmer down and go back to being adults, being themselves. Roman had to admit that he felt less like himself without anyone to take care of. 

Wrestling wasn’t a business where people sat you down to talk about starting a family. The old man wasn’t going to give you time off to hold your newborn. You had to be there, even on Christmas. So people made families where they could. Some people could manage kids; some people just grouped up. He had thought the three of them had something that would last. That was gone. Now it was him and Dean. He clung to it with more strength than he put into his last title shot.

His phone buzzed. Dean. “can I stay up past bedtime to watch Comedy Central?”

Roman texted back. “Just this once.”

***

They met back up in Memphis. “Got you a present,” Roman said to Dean as they unpacked in their hotel room.

“Is it a puppy?” Dean asked. “You said if I was good we could get a dog.”

Roman sighed. “We’re on the road too much for a dog.”

“Other people have dogs,” Dean pouted. Roman wasn’t sure how much of this was a work. Pretty typical for Dean, if he had to be realistic.

“Maybe someday. I got you something else.” Roman dug something wrapped in tissue paper out of his bag. He even put a big bow on it.

“It’s not my birthday,” Dean said.

“Just felt bad how often I have to be away from my boy. Here.” He pushed the package at Dean, who took it.

He sat down on the bed nearest the window and untied the bow. The paper fell away to reveal a toy, a stuffed bunny rabbit, brown, with long ears, not shaped like a teddy bear but long like a real bunny.

“I saw him in the store and he wanted to come home with me,” Roman said.

Dean’s eyes were glistening, but he hardened his expression and wiped at them. Roman sat down next to him and put his arm around him.

Dean tried to say something, but stuttered, no words coming out. He gave up trying and just buried his face into the toy rabbit, clutching it close to his chest. Roman rubbed his back in small circles between his shoulder blades.

“He didn’t tell me what his name is,” Roman said gently. “Maybe he’ll tell you.”

Dean sniffed. He leaned his ear over the bunny’s head. “Buster.”

Roman nodded. “Welcome home, Buster,” he said. “You’re part of our family now.”


	4. Everything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full warnings in end notes.

They did their best that week, and the week after, and the week after that, but with so many injuries on the roster, it was hard to carry all the weight being put on them. Mr. McMahon wasn’t pleased with their performance. And when Vince isn’t happy, ain’t nobody happy. They prepared to get screamed at. Roman was surprised to find Dean’s hand in his, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Dean opened his jacket a little: Buster was tucked inside.

“Buster doesn’t deserve this,” Roman said.

“I think he knew what he was getting into,” Dean said. He let go of Roman’s hand as the door opened.

Roman tried to stay at peace as the next half an hour washed over him. He got called a lot of names. When Vince turned to direct his rage onto Dean, Roman felt his chest seize up. He wanted to throw himself in front of the train, to catch the bullet to save Dean from this. He wanted to jump on the grenade almost more than he wanted to keep being employed.

Instead he sat there and let Dean take it. He saw Dean’s hand sneak inside his jacket to clutch the rabbit hidden in there.

When it was over, they still had their jobs. Roman wasn’t sure what the meeting had accomplished other than to scare them into wrestling...harder? They left, exchanging sympathetic glances with the stragglers.

Once they were out of view of anyone else, Roman pulled Dean into a tight hug. Dean didn’t say anything, just pressed his face into Roman’s chest. Roman rubbed his back. He and Seth were the only ones who ever really figured out where Dean’s triggers were, but this was one of them. He didn’t mind being screamed at if he could scream back, but being abused when he wasn’t allowed to resist, to even say a word or lift a finger? Bad news.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Roman said, trying to reassure Dean but also himself.

Dean took a deep, shuddering breath. “If he’d just took his belt off, it would have at least been over faster.”

“Dean. I wish I could promise no one will ever hurt you again. Maybe if we had a different job I could. But I can say, no one will ever hurt you like  _ that _ ever again.”

Dean took the rabbit out of his jacket and handed it to Roman. “Promise Buster.”

“Buster, no one will ever hurt you. You are safe. We love you,” Roman said seriously, looking into  the toy’s surprisingly expressive eyes. Then he moved the rabbit’s head in a nod.

Dean took a steadier breath and rocked back and forth on his heels and toes.

“What’s that, Buster? You’re hungry? Me too! Dean, are you hungry?”

“Not really…”

“When was the last time you ate?”

“I dunno, lunch?”

“It’s 11:30 at night, buddy. We should get you some food.”

Dean grimaced.

“Nuggets? And then bed?” Roman asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Okay,” Dean relented, “but I want a story.”

“I think I can do that.”

***

They went through a drive-through on the way back to their hotel. Roman got a Happy Meal with a toy, plus a 20-piece for the hungry boy dozing next to him.

When they got there, Roman woke up Dean. He shook his arm gently. “Hey buddy, we’re here. Just gotta get upstairs, then dinner, then bed.”

Dean’s eyes fluttered open, unseeing, then he thrashed, knocking the lid off a Sprite sitting in the cupholder between them. He shouted.

“Dean! It’s me, it’s Roman, we’re in the car, you’re safe. It’s me, look at me.” He grabbed Dean’s arm. Dean finally stopped moving, gasping for breath, looking at Roman with hollow eyes.

“It’s okay, here, you didn’t even spill.” Roman filled the car with soothing patter. “Let me just put the lid back on the soda, there we go. I’ll get the food, and our bags are already in the room, isn’t that good? The gear can stay in the car for now.”

“No, it’s okay,” Dean said, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. Let me…ugggh,” he trailed off in non-verbal frustration. He hung his head.

“Dean, you don’t have to do anything.”

“But—you don’t have to do everything,” he said with frustration.

“Let me dad you,” Roman said. “You’ll probably feel better soon. It’s okay if you don’t. But the fries are getting cold.”

“...point.”

Roman got out and helped Dean out of the car, then grabbed the food. Dean got the rest of their stuff out of the back and they went to their room.

The fries were bordering on inedible, but the rest of the food was fine. Roman was on the bed. He had taken custody of Buster for the time being.  Dean sat with his back to the corner of the hotel room, curled up with a blanket around him, eating chicken nuggets and playing with the toy from his Happy Meal, a mostly pleasant orange plastic distraction.

When Dean was done, he got up and sat next to Roman. “Story?”

Roman smiled. “I really like this part.”

“Me too. You do all the voices really well.”

Roman glanced down at his phone. “This is the story of a man who woke up with no memory of who he was, with only the knowledge that he spoke many languages and knew how to do things he couldn’t understand.”

Dean’s eyes lit up with recognition. “Lemme get under the covers.”

Dean kicked his shoes off, shucked his jacket and jeans and t-shirt, and dove under the blankets as Roman continued.

“He was rescued from drowning by fishermen who didn’t know who he was either,” Roman said with wonder.

Before Jason Bourne could even escape with Marie, Dean was asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vince verbally abuses Dean, which triggers Dean's memories of past child abuse. Later, he has a panic attack upon waking where he doesn't recognize Roman.


	5. Sharing

Roman woke up (much later that night or very early the next morning) to the sensation of someone crawling into his bed.

Wordlessly, Dean curled up against his back. Roman wasn’t sure whether to roll over or to say hi or to even acknowledge that he had stirred awake. The he felt something soft at his back: Buster had joined them too.

“Roman,” Dean whispered. “Wake up.”

“I’m awake, what’s up?”

“Can you dad for me? I had a bad dream.”

Roman sat up immediately. “Sure, buddy, what happened?” Dean scooted over, fitting himself into the hollow under Roman’s arm.

“I had a dream that you died. You got hit by a car and died, and I had to go to the funeral but nobody wanted to sit with me, and then I got so upset that I had to run away, and then I couldn’t find anyone I knew and—” Dean stopped, gasping for a breath.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, it was just a dream.”

“But you can’t tell me you’re never going to die.”

Roman brushed Dean’s hair back from his face. “Everybody dies, kiddo. But I take pretty good care of myself. You don’t have to think about me dying for a long, long time.”

“I know it’s dumb, but it felt really real.”

“Dreams are scary like that. I was having a dream I walked all the way out to the ring apron before realizing I didn’t have my gear on and I was in my underwear.”

“Crowd would prolly love that,” Dean said sleepily.

“You wanna sleep in my bed tonight?” Roman asked, rubbing Dean’s upper arm in an attempt at a comforting gesture.

“Yeah,” Dean said, sliding back down onto the pillow.

“Big spoon or little spoon?”

Dean scoffed. “Do you even have to ask?”

“Hey, I don’t want to assume,” Roman said. “You don’t like feeling trapped.”

Dean pulled the covers up to his nose and rolled onto his left side. “Just let me face the door. And give me Buster.”

“Oh, so Buster’s the littlest spoon.”

“Yep.”

Roman sank down into the bed, throwing his right arm over Dean and clutching him close to his chest. “Is this okay?”

Dean sighed. “Yeah. I feel better already.”

***

They woke up tangled together. Dean had stolen all the covers by wrapping himself in them and then rolling away from Roman. Buster fell off the bed completely and ended up halfway to the bathroom.

Dean drew his knees up to his chest, curling into a ball. “I think we need to talk about this,” he said.

“Hrgh. Dad needs coffee first,” Roman groaned, stretching and hopping off the side of the bed. He ambled over to the tiny in-room coffee maker. He filled it with water and slid in a round packet of grounds, hitting a switch. It hissed.

“What are we?” Dean asked. “What are you for me? Please don’t say boyfriend, please don’t say dad.”

Roman paused.

“Please say something,” Dean added.

“Well.” Roman frowned thinking. “I’m the big. You’re the little. I take care of you. I’ll take care of you as long as you need me. As long as you want me.”

Dean finally looked up. “You like doing this?” He threaded the edge of the blanket back and forth through his fingers with apprehension.

“Yeah, of course I do,” Roman said. “You like it too, right? You’re not just going along with it for me?” The machine beeped and Roman retrieved a cup of watery coffee.

“No, I like it. I think I like it.” He took a deep breath and let it out. “Being a kid, and having ADHD, and being a dipshit with PTSD have a lot in common, but there’s no stigma against being a kid,” Dean said, making eye contact with his own feet. “Kids have bad, like,  _ executive function _ but you  _ have  _ to be patient with them, because they’re kids. I want people to be patient with me without shaming me for it. I don’t want to be a permanent child because I got a messed up brain, but doing the kid thing makes me feel less bad about it. I dunno, Ro, you’re the one who wanted to talk about it. So I’m talking. Concerta does less for me than forgiveness.”

“You’re not a dipshit,” Roman said, looking over his mug.

“Yes, I am. My ass is going to get wellnessed for crying during a match or like going catatonic when I need to be doing a promo because somebody was mean to me. I’m a mess.”

Roman shook his head. “Being a mess doesn’t make you a dipshit.” 

“What do they call that? Semantics?”

“I think they call it love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean has a nightmare and then they have a relationship talk, but I don't think this needs any other content notes.


End file.
